


How Deep Is Your Love

by ErosandPsyche



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angel/Demon Relationship, Bottom Castiel, Dean in Hell, Hell Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErosandPsyche/pseuds/ErosandPsyche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel descends into Hell to bring Dean out. Dean doesn't want to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Deep Is Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot for the competition in DESTIEL FOREVER FB group. Not quite a dubcon, but skirting the edges of it. Demon!Dean is dark, but not completely lost.

The first time Dean saw the Angel of the Lord, he was as bright as the sun and his voice vibrated down to his very bones.

Not that Dean had real bones here in Hell. He was just a construct, a broken soul, a twisted and evil thing that was never without a blade in his right hand. Because he was never going on that rack again.

He screamed at the light, it burned him through the imaginary clothes he wore and seared at his brain. Gradually the pain stopped and he lowered his arm.

For just a second, the light was beautiful and the sound made him want to weep.

Then his vision cleared and the angel was wearing a meatsuit, or at least appeared to. It had messy dark hair that looked finger-fucked, vivid blue eyes that focused straight on him.

How Dean knew what the creature was, he couldn’t say. He didn’t even believe in angels. But that didn’t stop him from rushing the creature and plunging his knife into its chest.

Those blue eyes dropped to the knife as Dean back up, the angel’s fingers curling over the handle and pulling it out. The knife fell with a clatter.

Maybe it would end Dean’s pathetic existence. He could only hope.

Before either of them could speak, the ever-present background noise of screams and wet, darker sounds intensified. Black-eyed creatures poured into Dean’s space, moving past him to claw at the angel.

Instead of raising in defense, the angel let itself be dragged back and bound to the rack. Its lack of movement was so suspicious that the other demons backed away once the chains were clicked shut, as if expecting it to spring out of the shackles and smote all.

But he never stopped staring at Dean, even when one brave soul darted forward to slash at its cheek.

Blood dripped down the skin, just tan enough to look more golden than pale.

“Stop,” Dean hissed, snatching up his blade and slashing it in the air around him. “He’s mine.” He growled at the particularly bold ones, his eyes as hot and heavy in his sockets as the coal black they became.

When they finally backed up and slunk away, he turned to face the angel. Keeping the blade handy, even though it was as effective as holding a limp dick.

“Get lost on the way to Heaven?”

“No. I’m here for you.” The angel spoke for the first time, voice gritty and low. Between that hair and the gravelly voice, maybe he just woke up. Do angels sleep?

Dean touched the blade to the bright red line travelling down to his jaw. “That was your first mistake, wasn’t it?” He pressed the tip into the stupid white shirt it was wearing, like it was about to pop into the office or some shit. He sliced all the way down to where he stabbed moments ago.

The wound was still there, but old and crusty, the scab flicking off as it healed before his eyes.

“Oh, you’re gonna be a lot of fun.” He stabbed the same spot again, and again, making a mess of the skin until blood flecked his own arms and chest. He could taste the coppery drops when licking his own lips.

The angel hardly reacted through the brutal motions that thudded against his chest. “I came to bring you out of Hell.”

“Oh?” Dean snorted, idly digging his fingers into the shredded meat over the angel’s heart. “Going to ‘grip me tight and pull me out of perdition’, are you? Bullshit, tell me another one.”

“You are the Righteous Man.” Castiel spoke seriously, his chin dipping low to stare directly at Dean.

“That’s good!” Dean slapped the mess of blood, the mush making a squelching sound beneath his palm. It kinda bothered him that this holy upstart had no reaction. Maybe his ministrations lacked finesse, but it never failed to get a reaction out of a normal soul.

Alastair had made sure that Dean’s education was _very_ thorough.

Dean leaned in until their chests were flush, licking his lips as he hovered an inch from Castiel’s cheek. “Being this close to you makes me hot. What do you think of that, soldier-boy?”

His gaze slid to meet Dean’s, perfectly stoic.

In response his touch took another route, sliding down the whole skin of Castiel’s stomach, pushing away the sopping remains of the shirt that slapped wetly against his hands.

“Is the feeling not mutual?” He sneered, letting his parted lips brush the angel’s jaw. Unsnapping the front of the pants, he slid his hand down to cup the soft, loose skin. “Hmm, thought it’d be smooth. Not a Ken doll, what d’ya know.”

Whatever else he was in life, there were many ways to torture the damned and the righteous, and Dean took his time rubbing his thumb up and down and rubbing the head. He grinned viciously as the angel began to swell, slow at first, then rapidly.

“I’ve never been more proud of myself than at this moment.” He whispered, licking a long line down Castiel’s neck. He manipulated the cock deftly, rubbing his palm down the top and adjusting him so it bobbed out between them.

“Why? It is a biological function in response to friction.” Castiel sounded as puzzled as if Dean was squeezing his heart and admiring the beat. Which Dean had done to others before.

Castiel sure was cocky for someone with his arms and legs bound.

“Hey, I could remove those bits instead.” He poked at the angel’s side with the blade. “You should show me some respect.”

Castiel shook his head with concern, the first sign of emotion he showed. “We’re wasting time. I can’t take you against your will.”

“But I _can_.” Dean squeezed the erection trapped between them, making a crude pantomime against Cas’s hip. He liked ‘Cas’ better, stopped him from getting too excited about this being an angel.

He could fuck an angel. That was hot.

“Dean…”

He stepped back as if a shock sparked where they touched. It was the first time Cas used his name, and it made him feel...strange. “Stop that,” he growled, roughly grabbing Cas’s lower lip and raking his nails down.

Blood dripped from the split-skin, but the angel never stopped watching him.

“And keep your eyes down. Don’t even _look_ at me.” Dean roughly shoved Cas’s face away, keeping his hand there to make a sort of shield as he sliced away the pants. They had to be peeled off his thighs, having partially dried in tacky splotches.

He licked his own fingers instead of jamming them into the other mouth like normal. Once he made a show out of slurping and sucking to make them nice and wet, he reached between them and explored the smooth stretch of skin just under the sac. “Isn’t it wrong to let a demon touch you like this?”

“You’re not a demon.” He stated simply.

“The _fuck_ I’m not!” Dean pushed a finger inside Cas with most of the moisture rubbed off in punishment.

At this Cas gasped, no amount of tightening or wriggling could dislodge the hand pressed against him.

“I’m going to split you apart, angel. You can call me God, if you want.” Bitter disgust coated his soul even as he spoke so lewdly, because he was so goddamn _angry._

Because it was too _fucking_ late to pull him out of hell. He’d spent more time here than living; sometimes he forgot his own name and that he ever was a human. Before Dean was just playing around, but now it was getting personal.

Pressing in and out against the thick ring of muscle, he listened to Cas groan quietly. “How come you react to this and not stabbing? Or is that not a pain sound?” He was partially curious, but that didn’t stop him from working a finger in until he could work in two.

“It’s not the first time,” Cas paused to suck in a breath at the intrusion of two, “that I’ve been tortured.”

But nobody never touched his sweet virgin ass? Alastair obviously didn’t teach them. By now Dean’s wires were so crossed that he was hard enough to slice glass, still pressing against Cas’s bare hip every so often to relieve the pressure.

“Let’s see if you cry or come then, pretty angel.” He bit the long muscle of Cas’s neck until his teeth left indents, swiping his tongue along the salty skin with pinpricks of blood dotting it. He ran his hand over the flagging erection, pumping until it was red-flushed and straining against his palm before he scissored two fingers inside.

He chuckled against the wet skin. “You’re so damn responsive. Do you like being tied up? I bet you do, you kinky bastard. Need me to slap you around like a bored housewife?”

“No.” Despite his words, Cas was getting slick and loose. “I can see you, to the soul. I’m not saying no, because it’s you.”

Dean pulled his hand off that pretty cock and slapped his face as hard as he could. It reopened the wound on the inside of Cas’s lip and broke the surface, bright red sluiced out the side of his mouth.

He liked it that way; blood had never excited him in life, he _thought_ , but fuck if it didn’t know. “I know what I look like. Don’t you dare think,” he grabbed Cas’s jaw and made him look at him while the hot agony filled his sockets, “that I won’t hurt you. It gets me off.”

Rubbing against Cas’s hip again, he whispered. “Be glad I don’t dig a new hole in you to fuck.” He pushed a third finger in, but it didn’t get a reaction this time. Dean waited too long, he had to practically thrust all the way to the knuckles to get a shudder.

He was leaking freely all over his thigh and smearing hotly against Dean’s shirt, and Dean wanted to pop the throbbing cock in his mouth. But that would be too kind. He’d already been too easy on this angel, no wonder it kept mistaking him for a person.

Instead of continuing to stroke at the bared cock, he popped his jeans open with a thumb to free his own.

“I hate you,” he whispered as he withdrew his fingers and positioned the head with his hand. “You shouldn’t have waited. I’m broken now.” He pushed, and pushed until he was firmly gripped inside Cas.

This close to each other, Cas opened his eyes and gazed right at him. “You’re not broken.”

“Yes,” Dean groaned out, unable to believe that he was balls deep inside of an angel, “I am.” Defiling something pure while looking into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, he nearly finished right then and there. But he took his time, pulling back and rolling his hips to get a nice even rhythm. It was the first time he’d ever fucked someone when they weren’t crying, that he could _remember_.

“Dean.” Cas breathed against his mouth, close enough to kiss.

“Shut up,” he gasped as he angled down just right to create pressure against the spot that would unravel them. “There’s nothing left for you to save.” Heat boiled under his skin, centering from where he violated, where he’d been violated any number of times.

Though he couldn’t move his arms, or his legs, Cas leaned his head forward to bump softly against Dean’s as he moved. “Then why aren’t you hurting me?”

Dean groaned at the soft contact, the first bit of kindness he’d been shown in decades. “Shut up.” But he didn’t punish with his body, continuing the steady thrusting until Cas threw his head back. The filthily wet sounds between them were loud as Cas sucked him in deeper.

One...two...three more deep pushes and he watched the first spurt leave the swollen slit and land in a milky stripe along his bloody chest. It kept going, one layer after another as his inner muscles clenched and spasmed around Dean’s cock.

“Hate you,” he whispered as he thrust one last time and all the anger and lust and hate poured deep into Cas, rushing out like poison sucked into a willing body. When it stopped he slumped against the bound body., breathing hard.

To be honest, he wasn’t even sure if he came so much as drained of everything inside.

When Dean lifted his head, he saw Cas’s solemn face and said nothing. He slid out of Cas when straightening up, refastening his jeans and placing one hand over the shackle. It opened and clinked as it swung and hit the wall behind them.

He heard the rustling but didn’t look as Cas straightened himself out. It came as no surprise that the clothes reformed themselves around the angelic body.

“I’m going to take you out of this place.” Cas said quietly, his voice a rumble in the din of screams and other disgusting sounds that Dean knew too well. “Through the flames.”

“Yes.” Dean reached out to grab the discarded clothing from other...victims, holding up the trenchcoat. It wasn’t much, but it would protect his blackened, rotting soul from the hottest flames hell had to offer.

It was plucked from his hands, and he stared as Cas whirled it around his shoulders and pushed his arms through the sleeves.

“You don’t need this for protection. That’s why you have me.” He reached around and draped one arm around Dean’s chest, palm pressing firmly against his shoulder.

“What does it matter? I’ve died once already.”

The nearly rough cheek of Cas pressed against his. “This time, I’ll be with you.”

A burst of sound happened behind him, and Dean caught the movement of feathers out of the corner of his eyes. Full, thick, and beautiful. But before he could crane his head to look, he felt two fingers press against his forehead.

Everything went black.


End file.
